


Let's Pretend the Fog Has Lifted

by bloodofpyke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:16:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofpyke/pseuds/bloodofpyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set almost right after the tournament at Harrenhal; written for Stephie's <a href="http://mockyrfears.livejournal.com/2421.html">GOT Kink Meme</a> under the prompt <i>on the iron throne</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Pretend the Fog Has Lifted

She was boring her prince, she knew, and she should care but she didn’t, couldn’t find it in herself to give a fig about Rhaegar’s entertainment.

But she was a princess, and he her prince, and that wolf girl only a distraction, and so she waited until they were back at the castle before slipping into his bedchamber and leading him, grinning wickedly, the flames flickering off her dark eyes, to the throne room.

“We can’t,” he murmured against her hair, but his grip on her waist tightened, and then they were kissing against one of the columns, and his breath was hot against her cheek as he moved to unlace her out of her gown.

“Not here,” she whispered, cocking her head towards the throne, grinning at his expression.

***

The throne was cold to the touch and she shifted against him, moving fluidly to straddle him, running her hands down his chest, leaning down to peck kisses where her fingers fell. He shivered under her, her silver prince, and she guided his hands to her hips, her fingers lacing with as they moved. 

It was slow, at first, and she could see his eyes squinting at the steel, and she wondered idly how he would look with blood dotted over his skin. But the moment passed, and his hands were pressing into the small of her back, and she was moaning into his mouth, driving him deeper deeper deeper until she wanted to throw her head back and scream. 

And then it was over, and he was kissing her clumsily, lifting her so that he could clamber off the throne that would soon be his. He was sliding back into his breeches, his hair catching the light and shining, a pale echo of the beaten steel, and she was shrugging, settling back onto the throne like she owned it. 

She was a princess, and he her prince, and she trusted that, now at least, things would stay that way.


End file.
